


Struck Up

by reginaldthegreat



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Minor Violence, Strangers to Lovers, not “y/n”, reader has a nickname
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29079828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginaldthegreat/pseuds/reginaldthegreat
Summary: Both you and Matthieu are having a perfectly uneventful day when a very unfortunate confrontation brings you two together.
Relationships: Canada (Hetalia) & Reader, Canada (Hetalia)/Reader, Canada x Reader, Hungary & Prussia (Hetalia), Hungary/Prussia (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Suddenly Too Eventful

Matthieu scowled at his history textbook on the third floor of his university library, trying his best to absorb the details of the French and Indian War. 

“The war began in 1754, 1754, 1754,” he muttered to himself, desperate for the year to stick for long enough to pass his exam on Wednesday. 

He had been studying for what, three hours now? He regretted leaving his dorm room without eating breakfast because he was beginning to feel a little lightheaded. 

He checked his pockets, hoping he’d left a five dollar bill. Maybe he could get himself one of those disgusting microwave cheeseburgers from the cafeteria vending machines. They were sickening, but at least he’d last until the end of the day, where he’d likely suffer from an excruciating stomachache.

He shook his head in disbelief when he remembered his brother, Alfred, and his lack of distain for the plastic-y cheese and too-soft bread. How he could eat that stuff, Matthieu had no clue. That dude was a freak of nature. 

Matthieu rifled through his pocket for a moment before discovering, with a heavy heart, that he’d emptied his pockets before doing the laundry last night. He’d forgotten. 

Before he could properly consider whether or not he should head back to his dorm to eat or try and tough it out for the rest of the day, a deep, suave voice sliced through the quiet library atmosphere. 

“Hey, you’re kinda cute.”

He followed the sound of the voice to a table near his. A girl in a leather jacket and black ankle boots was reading, deeply immersed in a book, as a handsome, tall man with dreadlocks tied up in a bun leaned against her table. 

“Thanks,” she replied after glancing at him without moving her head, then returned to her book. 

“What, that’s it?” he asked, incredulous. 

The few people in the library are starting to stare, wondering what the disturbance is all about. 

Matthieu feels hot anger rise in his throat, but he isn’t a very confrontational guy. That being said, he still considers butting in.

The girl sighs and sets the book down. “What, am I supposed to fuck you over a subpar compliment?” 

A couple of people “ooh” at this, and Matthieu stifles a chuckle of his own.

The guy looks around, playing to the tension in the room as he smiles, revealing straight, perfect teeth. “I mean, that would be pretty nice.”

Everyone is staring now, enjoying the free spectacle that dragged them from the depths of their textbooks and Powerpoint presentations. 

Everyone is enjoying it but her. 

“Of course you would say that,” she muttered, annoyed now. “No.”

“What? Why? A good looking guy like me and a good looking girl like you... we’d look pretty hot together...”

“I’m not going home with a boy that sends dick pics.”

The crowd “ooh”s again. 

“Uhm, I’ve never sent you one...”

She looks at him incredulously, then looks down at his shoes. “You’re wearing socks with sandals. You send dick pics.” 

Matthieu looks down at his own socks and sandals and blushes, regretting his fashion choices. He normally wouldn’t go out with these but he opted for comfort over presentation since he didn’t have class today.

The man is taken aback by her snide comment and turns away, “whatever, bitch.”

“Someone doesn’t know how to handle ‘no’,” she says with a smirk.

“What did you say?” he turns around, furious.

Matthieu jumps to his feet unconsciously just as she stands up, slinging her book bag over her shoulder. “I know you heard me.”

The amusement of onlookers quickly melts into discomfort and concern. 

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I don’t do charity work.”

He grits his teeth and holds a fist up to her face and she winces unconsciously, the crowd gasping in shock, then sighs. “Fine, hit me. I’m built like an 11 year old and you’re clearly stronger than me, but go ahead and prove it to the audience. Show them how much of a little bitch you are.”

This is escalating too fast. Everyone is nervous, unsure about whether or not to get involved. Matthieu is past that, though. He pushes the chair back in a frenzy before making his way over to the table. He has to intervene, he has to, before- 

A crack resounds throughout the library. 

He punched her. 

“What the fuck,” Matthieu’s voice bubbled up from his throat before he can probably consider them as his fist meets the man’s jaw. He doesn’t know these people, but it doesn’t matter. All he knows is that this guy needs his ass kicked. 

The people in the library fade into the background as the handsome stranger’s face contorts into an expression of cruel anger. He doesn’t look so handsome anymore.


	2. Fistfight

My heart is pounding loud in my ears. 

I had been hit on once or twice before, but never like this. I was scared, though I didn’t want to admit it.

This man was tall and thin, but he was athletic, the muscles in his arms toned and carefully sculpted. He clearly had anger issues.

The sad part was... if his personality wasn’t fucked, maybe I would’ve actually given him my number. 

“Fine, hit me. I’m built like an 11 year old and you’re clearly stronger than me, but go ahead and prove it to the audience,” I said, then leaned in. “Show them how much of a little bitch you are.” It wasn’t a smart thing to say, but I was too cocky for my own good. 

Unfortunately for me, this man, no, this _boy_ was equally as cocky. Before I had a chance to react, he swung a fist at me.

I felt a sharp pain and saw an explosion of light, then sparkling numbness in the center of my face. I think I heard a loud ‘crack’ too, but honestly, all I could think was: _So this is what the incels mean by “gender equality”._

Oh wait, haha, I was hit on, and now I was _hit on_. That’s funny. 

Wow, I’m delirious.

My head was spinning, fuzzy, muddled, a mess of thoughts and sounds. In front of me, fuzzy figures and loud, muffled sounds were dancing. Wait, not dancing. Fighting. 

“What the fuck,” someone shouted, and as my head started to clear of its horde of bees, I realized that someone had hit the guy back. 

A fistfight was playing out before my eyes. 

The “someone” was tall, skinny, with blond hair so dark it almost looked orange. He had the other guy pinned to the ground, fist coming down on him over and over. 

It was loud. People were yelling. 

“Stop it,” I said weakly, my voice outside my head. I wondered if anyone heard me. 

Suddenly, two men and a woman in uniform, wearing laminated badges with the words “Campus Police” burst in. There was scuffling as they tore the two guys apart, handcuffing the first dude with a lot of struggle. He eventually stopped trying to break free when his anger subsided enough for him to remember his own name. He’s still staring daggers into the blond guy as one of the men drag him away.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the woman in uniform asks. “I can call an ambulance for your nose.”

I wondered if my eyes were teary, unable to feel my face. I reach up to touch my nose gently, pulling my hand away to find my fingertips covered in blood. 

“Oh. Uhm, no, I’ll be fine, thank you,” I say, unsure of how truthful I really am at the moment. The woman says something else, but I’m too busy listening to the exchange between the other man in uniform and the blond. 

“That man had been arrested before for something similar. He isn’t even allowed on campus,” the uniformed officer said, flipping through a pad of paper and scribbling some notes into it. “Do you mind if I grab your name and number so that we can file a report against him?”

The blond shook his head, and I noticed that he had taken a few hits himself. There was a puffy red mark under one of his violet eyes and another on his cheek. I noted that they would likely bruise later. 

In his hand was a pair of broken glasses. As he spoke to the officer, he placed the glasses back in his nose, where they sat at a slightly awkward angle. 

“No problem,” the blond said, a slight French accent adorning the vowels in his words. “Matthieu Williams.” 

He gives him his number, each word with utter calmness, as if he didn’t just beat up a stranger with his bare fists.

“Ma’am,” the woman asked with the air of someone who had been repeating her words for quite some time. “Can you understand what I’m saying?”

“Oh, sorry, yes. I- I just want to be alone right now,” I said. “I’ll take myself to the hospital if I need to, thank you.”

She nods at this. “Alright. We’ll contact you for further questioning if need be now that we have your friend’s contact information.”

When she leaves, the crowd stares at us both, bleary eyed, the silence dripping with shock. 

I wipe at my bloody nose again when I realize there’s a slight metallic taste on my tongue. Turning to my knight in shining armor and gesturing to the gaping audience, I smirk. At least, I hope I’m smirking. My face feels like it’s on fire right now. “You know, if it weren’t for the blood, this could’ve been a huge turn on for a lot of these people.”

No one laughs at my witty comment this time, and Matthieu’s expressive eyebrows are upturned in concern and worry. 

Yeah, I had had enough of this. 

Scooping up my book and turning on my heels, I strode towards the exit of the library. I was sick of this. I just wanted to go home. 

I heard footsteps behind me, Matthieu following closely behind me, but I didn’t want to talk right now. I wanted to find a corner to cry in and then go back to my dorm to vent to my best friend.

“Wait,” Matthieu called, “please, just for a second.”

Ugh.

I halt quickly, unexpectedly, and he walks into me clumsily. 

For a man who could supposedly fight, he seemed to be easily caught off guard. 

“What?” I asked, turning to face him. 

“I just wanted to see if you were alright,” he says, his voice quiet and shy. The opposite of the man who defended me earlier. 

“I’m fine, just pissed he couldn’t have waited like 5 minutes for me to finish my book. I mean honestly, chivalry is dead!” I joked in a flat tone. I was tired, my exhaustion starting to wear down my walls. 

“Your nose is bleeding a lot,” he said, “I think it might be broken.”

I was alarmed that that thought didn’t occur to me.

“Oh. Well. I can drive myself to the hospital.”

He shook his head. “You need to focus on slowing down the bleeding. I can drive you.”

I frown. “No offense, I’m really grateful you saved my ass earlier but I’m really craving a familiar face right now.”

“I understand. Do you have someone to call? Someone who could help?” he asked. 

I thought about my best friend. She was the only person I’d think to ask for a favor like this.

“Elizabeta, my roommate,” I replied. He nodded encouragingly as I pulled out my phone to dial her number. 

She picked up quickly, as usual. 

“Hey girl, what’s poppin’?” her voice rang from the other end. 

“Okay, I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to freak out.”

“I can’t promise that. Spill.”

I sighed. “A dude may have broken my nose because I wouldn’t hook up with him.”

There’s a silence at the end, then a scuffling, before Elizabeta’s voice cuts through the line. 

“Where are you?” she says darkly. 

I point her in the right direction and she immediately hangs up. 

“She’s coming,” I say to Matthieu, who is still looking me empathically. 

This is the first time I’m able to get a good look at him and I can’t deny it, I like what I see. 

He’s tall, fit but not muscular, with pink lips and big, violet eyes behind the broken glasses. At the top of his head was a stray strand of curly hair that drooped over his forehead. 

He looked like he’d smell good. Not that I’d know for sure anyway at a time like this. 

I glance at his swelling eye and mark on his cheek, a wave of gratefulness finally hitting me. 

“Is your face okay?” I ask. “It looks like those marks are going to leave a bruise. And your glasses, will you be able to replace them?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I can manage with these broken ones in the meanwhile. As for my face... my brother and I used to get into quite a few scuffles when we were kids. By comparison, this is nothing.”

“Wow, you really beat each other up, huh?”

“Well, more like... I was the one who’d get beaten up,” he chuckled humorlessly, a growing discomfort present in the undertones of his words. 

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry Matthieu,” I said, and I meant it. It was beginning to sink in that this stranger had intervened for me, taking a few hits for someone he had never met.

He shook his head dismissively, then in a soft voice, said, “don’t be. It’s made me stronger.”

From the end of the hallway, the echo of loud, angry footsteps grew louder as they drew closer. 

Matthieu raised his eyebrows. “That your friend?”

“Yessir,” I said. 

“KNIVES,” Elizabeta screamed my nickname when she was only a few feet away and we both winced at the sound. She was walking swiftly, chocolate curls billowing in the draft behind her as she pumped her arms at her sides. And boy, did she look _furious_.

“Knives?” Matthieu asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” I said, waving the topic away with a flutter of my hand.

“Who is he?” she shouted, green eyes glinting dangerously. “Is it this guy?” 

Matthieu held his hands up defensively as I stepped in front of him. 

“No dude, read the room!” I replied. “This is Matthieu. He’s the dude that intervened on my behalf.”

“Oh,” Elizabeta said, immediately dismissing him as irrelevant. She bridged the gap to pull me into a hug before holding me at arm’s length so she could get a good look at my battle-scar. “Hmm... your face is fucked.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“We definitely need to get you to the hospital. I can call an uber.”

“An _uber_?” I said incredulously. “What happened to your car?”

“It’s at the mechanic’s, remember?”

Oh, whoops.

“Let me drive both of you,” Matthieu urged. 

Elizabeta placed her hands on her hips and stepped close to him, leaning in to study him closely. His eyes widened as he looked at me for help, but I shrugged. When Elizabeta wanted to get to the bottom of something, she’d let no one stand in her way. 

“Why are you so nice?” she asked, squinting at him suspiciously. “No one’s that nice for no reason. Are you her stalker?”

“What? No!”

“Hmm...” she stared at him for a few more seconds, then straightened up, “...I still think you’re weird, but okay. I’m down to save a little cash on an uber.”

He let out a little sigh of relief and gestured to the parking lot outside the giant glass windows, where his car was.

“Let’s head out then,” he said.


	3. Tampon Up the Nose

Matthieu glanced up at the two young women in the backseat of his car in the overhead mirror. 

“Why the fuck is your car so loud?” Elizabeta asked, shaking her head incredulously. 

“It’s... old. I can’t afford to replace the engine right now,” he replied, his ears turning red in embarrassment. His car was definitely falling apart. The engine caused the floor beneath everyone’s feet to shake, synced with the deafening rumbling. 

“At least we have one thing in common,” she said, “our cars are absolutely _fucked_ and we’re too broke to replace them.”

He frowned, uncomfortable with the sheer amount of F-bombs she was dropping but too polite to object to it or point it out. He opted for silence.

“Is it possible for loud sound to make my nose feel more broken?” Knives asked her quietly, hoping Matthieu wouldn’t overhear. He did. 

Desperate to change the subject, he cleared his throat. “So, Knives. Why Knives?”

“Will you do the honors, Eli?” she asked her friend. “Every time I talk I taste blood again.”

Elizabeta nodded. “Sure, and I might have something for the bleeding,” she said, starting to rifle through the pockets of her men’s cargo pants. 

She redirected her attention to Matthieu as she searched. “We call her ‘Knives’ because when we were watching Scott Pilgrim years back, she was wearing the same outfit as the character in the movie. It was random but it fit her personality-wise too.”

Matthieu glanced into the overhead mirror again, at Knives’ leather jacket and black boots. As he recalled her feisty comments in the library, he nodded affirmatively. Made sense. 

“Aha!” Elizabeta cried, finding what she was searching for in the pockets. She held up a tampon. 

“You want me... to stick a tampon up my nose?” Knives asked, eyes wide. 

“I mean, yeah. You don’t have to worry about making a fool of yourself. You’ve got the only other person here _whipped_ ,” she said, smirking at the back of Matthieu’s head. 

“I’m sorry, what?” he said. 

“I second that,” Knives added, glaring at her friend as she complied, ripping the cotton tube from the plastic of the tampon.

“Oh come on, this guy gets beaten up _and_ gets his glasses broken for you, then drives you to the hospital, and you think he isn’t attracted to you?” Elizabeta laughs. 

Matthieu knows his blush is spreading from his ears to the rest of his face. He chastises himself on blushing so easily. 

There’s an awkward silence in the car after she says this, and Knives hides her small smile behind her hands as she shoves the tampon, now ripped in two pieces, up her nostrils. 

“I think he’s just a good dude,” she says, a little stuffy from having her nose clogged up with cotton and blood, “look at him. He looks like if Canada was a person.”

“Like he says ‘darn’ instead of ‘damn’,” Elizabeth adds.

“Like he tucks the napkin into his collar before he eats.”

“Like he says ‘you too’ when the waiter says ‘enjoy your meal’.”

Matthieu shook his head, a little upset even though they were actually more accurate than he would’ve liked to admit. “I’m sitting right here, you know.”

“Sorry,” Knives said, “we don’t mean to be mean. We just think you’re cute.”

“I think _you_ just think he’s cute,” Elizabeta retorted. “My meanness is entirely intentional.” 

Knives doesn’t object and Matthieu doesn’t know what to say anymore, staring at the road ahead of him too intensely. He bites the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from smiling, trying his hardest to play it cool. 

Truthfully, he had always been seen by everyone around him as incredibly average. Women never noticed him. In fact, no one really noticed him.

He had developed a complex about it when he’d get marked absent repeatedly in his classes despite sitting in the front row. 

He’d do all those things to try and become more noticeable. To make more friends. To just be looked at as more than a passing face. He styled his hair, took boxing classes, tried participating more in his university discussions (but everyone seemed to talk over him)... nothing worked. 

Having someone call him “cute”, well, he knew he must be tomato-red right now. 

He prayed silently for his blushing to go unnoticed by Elizabeta and thankfully, it did. 

“We’re pulling into the hospital parking lot,” she announced, and at the sound of this, Knives tried to remove the tampon pieces from her nostrils. 

Elizabeta grabbed her wrists before she could. 

“Leave it. It’s doing a good job of halting the blood flow,” she urged. “Besides, doctors see loads of weird shit all the time. I read an article about a guy who had an egg stuck in his asshole. Imagine! An egg!”

Knives and Matthieu both laughed at this, though Knives’ laughter was cut short as she groaned in pain. 

“I’m glad we’re here,” she said, “the adrenaline is wearing off fast and it’s starting to hurt like hell.” 

When Matthieu pulled into a parking space, he quickly pulled out the key and jumped out the car to open the door for her. 

Elizabeta smirked at her best friend. “See? Whipped.”


	4. Waiting Room

I sat sandwiched between Elizabeta and Matthieu in the waiting room, the former of whom was staring daggers into the other. 

“So, Matthieu,” Elizabeta said, “do you often study in the library?”

“Umm, yes?” 

She squinted at him. “Knives and I spend a lot of our time in there. It’s odd that we’ve never seen you around.”

He frowned at this comment, and we both noticed his shoulders sag a little. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m invisible.”

I turned to glare at Elizabeta, shaking my head slightly as if to say _’quit harassing him’_. 

I think she was already thinking something along those lines because she softened, her grimace melting into a look of guilt. 

“Don’t go all sadboi on me,” she said gently, the sudden kindness in her voice making him peek up at her shyly, “you seem like a sweet kid.”

The corners of his mouth tilted up into a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“You can always hang with us,” I suggested, thankful that Elizabeta had the sense not to erupt in disagreement. “It’s not a pity invitation either. You seem cool.”

Matthieu’s weak smile broke into a shy, tight-lipped one that _did_ reach his eyes this time. His cheeks turned a little pink and he bit his lip. “Thank you.”

Gosh, the longer I looked at him, the cuter he got. 

As if Elizabeta could read my mind, she whistled long and low, startling the only other patient in the waiting room, before throwing an arm over my shoulder and grinning wickedly. 

“Okay, I totally see it,” she crooned, “he’s totally your type.”

“What? Shut up, Eli,” I warned, looking away from Matthieu’s blushing face so I wouldn’t have to see his reaction. 

“No, I’m serious, he’s exactly it. Shy, polite, brave, and he studies in the library so he must be nerdy too. I ship it,” she laughed, and you scowled at her, suddenly aware of how hot your cheeks were. 

Matthieu didn’t say anything, and you couldn’t bear to look at him.

With a loud and sudden click, the door between the waiting room and the rest of the department swung open to reveal an incredibly pale, albino man in scrubs. You were incredibly grateful for the disturbance until Elizabeta’s jaw dropped beside you. 

“Shit... is that... are you... Gilbert?” Elizabeth sputtered. 

The nurse’s salmon colored eyes fixated on her as his face flooded with several polarizing emotions, ranging from shock to smugness. 

“Eliza, the _frau_ I last would’ve expected to run into,” he said, his raspy voice thick with a German accent. “Long time no see.”

I glanced quickly between the two of them, realizing that for once, Elizabeta was at a loss for words. I knew competition when I saw it, and this charming nurse was the physical embodiment of that for her. 

“I told you not to call me that,” she said, glaring. “Only my parents are allowed to call me Eliza. No one else.”

Gilbert tilted his head, smiling a wide, toothy grin. 

“No can do. The first time I called you Eliza, you couldn’t stop blushing. It was sooo cute,” he teased, knowing full well that it was going to throw her into a frenzy. 

“I highly recommend that you lie down and die,” she spat, and Matthieu and I exchanged wide eyes looks of alarm. 

“Uhm, not to interrupt the union, but my nose,” I called out, gesturing to the mess of tampon-and-blood on my face. 

“Oh, yes, sorry about that, sweetheart,” Gilbert cooed. I would’ve made a face of disgust if I didn’t anticipate the pain that would cause. “Follow me back to one of the rooms.”

“I’m coming with,” Elizabeta announced. 

“Can’t get enough, can you?” Gilbert called from over his shoulder. 

“I need to make sure you don’t try anything stupid on my girl,” she hissed, but Gilbert only laughed an odd, snakelike laugh.


End file.
